


Writhing

by Deastrumquodvicis



Series: No Longer One of the Angels [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deastrumquodvicis/pseuds/Deastrumquodvicis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is punished for his defiance yet again with searing agony, and it renders him delirious for days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writhing

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock's in-character Tumblr is at http://nolongeroneoftheangels.tumblr.com
> 
> Takes place in the present day.

_Sherlock._

_Sherlock._

_Will you ever apologize?_

"No," Sherlock said aloud, coming out of his dream.  Once again, She was standing there, hands on hips, like a stern parent.  After a few confused seconds of blinking and trying to wake up, he continued.  "I've said it a dozen dozen times:  no.  I will not take back what I said.  I was right.  You were behaving immorally.   _You were in the wrong_."  The glare that had withered a thousand sinners stared from the corner.  Sherlock sat up.  "Oh, I don't care what you do to me, I stand on principal.  Letting humans slaughter one another in your name, letting children blow themselves up--you've never stopped.  It goes on today, in the Middle East.  In India.  In Libya.  In dozens of nations around the world, I don't know how you can stand it."  He straightened himself up, taller than She was, and slowly crept toward her.  "Unless, of course, you like it.  Which ones love me so much they're willing to obliterate all others?  You say you're a merciful God yet you do everything possible to prove otherwise."

Pain shot up Sherlock's wings and he collapsed to one knee, shaking.  "My point is made."  The burning pulsed up the feathers again, and he nearly blacked out.  "You--you never get tired of in--flicting pain, do you?"  That time, he did lose consciousness.

He came to, if you could call it that, in his bed, some time later.  The pain was not unlike that he'd suffered upon arriving on Earth in 1976, but instead of raging against it, his body had decided to just give up.  He was shaking and sweating, and nothing made sense, as if in a high fever.  "Mmmmhhh."  He was trying to summon his brother, the one person who knew his plight and might extend a hand in aid, although the chances of him defying Her were slim at best, even for his little brother.  John arrived instead.

"You okay, you've been in and out all day."

"Wh....time?"  Sherlock blinked, brain unable to process the input of his eyes at any sort of speed, leaving everything feeling distant and foreign.

"It's about five in the afternoon.  I didn't want to disturb you after I found you, so I just...I let you sleep."  John tilted his head to get into Sherlock's line of sight.  "No, seriously though, are you okay?"

"Yeno, I dunno, no, morphine."  He rolled over, instantly regretting it, as new fire went through his wings, and he once again blacked out.  When he opened his eyes again, it was dark, and a bit of food had been placed on the bedside table, along with a small tablet of pain relief medication.  The clock read two in the morning.  He reached out to take it, but missed and knocked over the glass of water.  He frowned and sat up to clean it up, but the pain was too much again and he fell unconscious once more, slumped against the headboard.

This went on for several days, almost a week, Sherlock eating or drinking very little and what he did, he usually vomited up again.  Shaking, shivering, agony, and he couldn't tell John why.  Mycroft did eventually come, but said something to the order of  _This was all you, brother, you spoken when you should have been silent.  Again._   The detective had no grasp on the time he was in and out, lost track of reality, sometimes even convinced he was in the mental hospital again and refusing to let anyone near him.  But finally, the periods of consciousness grew longer and fewer, and while he was still severely disorientated, he started to be able to piece things back together again.  It wasn't for another week that he was fully back to normal, and was beyond grateful that John had decided against taking him to hospital.

"Must have caught something on my last case," Sherlock explained dismissively.  "All better now," he lied as an addition, wings still throbbing as if scalded with hot oil.  It was clear John didn't believe him, not one bit.  Not with all the weird things happening, the strange people that had shown up, and Sherlock talking to empty rooms a bit more than he did just a few weeks ago.  And Sherlock, of course, knew John didn't believe him.  But no more questions were asked, so the incident passed into unspoken taboo, something never brought up again.  Sherlock was still going to be defiant, of course, still take the pain when it was administered to him, because he wasn't one to cave under pressure, no matter how great, if it was only himself at stake.  This incident would probably repeat itself.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work in the series, but I'm a bit out of practise...


End file.
